


His King

by NiciJones



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom!Armie, Feels, M/M, king Timothée, king trailer inspired, knight Armand, medieval setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 14:09:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20508299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiciJones/pseuds/NiciJones
Summary: Armie has a special bond with his king.





	His King

**Author's Note:**

> This is 100% The King trailer inspired, part of it written in Venice when I was there last week. Shoutout to the best friends and travel companions I could ask for. Love y'all to bits.

“Stop! Not a step further.” Armie makes clear and draws his sword, stepping beside the throne. The guards at the bottom of the steps leading up to the throne step forward as well, ready to grab the supplicant should he make an attempt at coming any closer.

There’s a tense silence in the room for a moment in which the smith glares up at the king. Armie knows this look, knows the gleam in someone’s eyes when they are ready to leave reason behind to kill. He can see it in his eyes now, the way the thirst for revenge is trying to take over. Everyone in the room seems to hold their breath.   
But then the man takes a step back. Promptly, the two guards back off as well.

“The way I see it,” King Timothée speaks up, voice clear and firm. He has been the only seemingly unaffected one. “You tried to run off a suitor for your daughter and he sought revenge. In the future do not concern me with your personal quarrels or you are going to have to pay much more than just the fee to speak at court.” He nods towards the guards and motions with his hand for the smith to be taken away.

When the man has been dragged outside under his loud protests and the whispers of the other people attending the spectacle, the king turns his head to speak to Armie. “That’s all for today. Take me to my chambers.”

Armie inclines his head and motions to another guard behind the throne to give word that the king wouldn’t be accepting any more requests today.   
“Follow me, my king.” He bows slightly before leading the way to his private chambers. 

Once in the private part of the castle, Timothée relaxes visibly. Whenever he holds court, he seems unaffected at everything that is going on around him. Armie has seen the way he had to learn to control himself, to not give away his vulnerabilities. However, he can still see the little signs, perhaps simply focuses so much on him that he never misses the smallest change in his expression. 

He’s served Timothée for longer than he actually has been a king when he was still on his way to reclaim the land that was rightfully his and had to fight with everything that he had to give and then some.   
During all that time Armie had been at his side, had advised him in attack and defense strategy and been a patient listener whenever Timmy needed one. He’d seen him at his lowest, sick and dirty in a farmer’s village in the middle of nowhere where he had held his hair back as his king had thrown up, and he’d seen him at his highest, the day of his coronation where he had stood by his side in a shining armour and saw him take what they had been fighting for, what was rightfully his.

He likes to think that Timothée trusts him. More than anyone else.

Armie stands at the door and watches as king Timothée takes the red cape off, letting the velvet pool at his feet. Then he unbuttons his shirt, one button at a time and reveals pale skin. It makes Armie swallow and he quickly averts his gaze.   
The sound of more fabric being discarded fills the room. 

Armie swallows and clenches his eyes shut, willing the images away that his brain is conjuring up. He can’t remember the day when he started to feel like this for his king but he knows he shouldn’t take what wasn’t his, what isn’t being offered right now.

“Armand. Look at your king.” Timothée’s voice is rich and firm. The voice of a king. Armie couldn’t disobey him so he opens his eyes and slowly looks up.  
There’s skin, so much skin and Armie can’t look away, can’t help but notice the small layer of goosebumps covering his skin. The only thing that he’s still wearing, is his crown. It takes all his willpower to settle on his eyes.

“You are cold, your majesty. Do you want me to make a fire?” He asks, already moving towards the fireplace. It would be a welcome distraction, he’d find security in the well-known ritual. But Timothée doesn’t intend to let him.

“No. Stop. I think we can find other ways to keep warm.” 

Armie stops dead in his tracks, looks from the ornate tiles of the floor over to the pile of fabric up the expanse of pale skin, marred by scars and dusted by dark pubic hair, up and up until he meets soft eyes.

This has happened a couple of times now but Armie never wanted to hope it’s a regular occurrence. He knows whatever this is, it’s just another way to serve his king, to show him how much he cares. 

Oh and Armie loves him. More than anyone else, more than life itself. 

But he knows he’s never going to get the same from his king. And he can live with that. It’s an honour he’s giving him these small moments, moments in which they just belong to each other. Where there’s no appearance to keep up for either of them.

Armie eats them up like a starving man. If this is all he’s going to get, it’s more than enough. And he wants, oh he wants so much. He wants everything. The slow mornings, the training sessions, the political banter. And this: Timothée, naked in front of him, commanding him to come closer.   
He quickly takes off his sword and his leather jerkin. He’s wearing only hardened leather at court which makes it easier to move around all day and should still protect him in case of a serious fight.

Eagerly he approaches Timmy and picks up the velvet cape to drape it around his shoulders loosely. He is Timmy, right now, right here, with him, not King Timothée or Prince Timothée, the fearless warrior but just Timmy who is slightly cold in the draft that creeps in through windows and doors.   
“Don’t want you to get a cold, your majesty.” He points out softly and Timmy smiles at him, a private smile just for him.

Then, with a twinkle in his eyes, he walks over to the bed, sits at the edge. A clear invitation.  
An invitation Armie is happy to take. He steps closer and then, as he has done countless times before when Timmy sits on the throne, gets on his knees in front of him. 

In an almost overwhelming sense of awe, Armie lifts up one of Timmy’s legs, pressing a kiss to his foot. Another one on his shin, the inside of his knee, his thigh before he reaches his already hard cock. Without much preamble, he opens his mouth and takes it all in. The taste is familiar and he lets his tongue swirl before moving his mouth, wanting to drive Timmy closer to the edge.

Above him, Timmy moans helplessly and fists a hand in his hair. Armie loves it when he does that, trying to stay in control while Armie does his best to unravel him. He loves the soft sounds he makes, the way his usually perfect control slips and lets him in on his every thought, his every emotion. 

If anything, it makes Armie fall even harder for him.

He sucks and sucks, teasing him in the way he knows drives Timmy mad with arousal. The mattress squeaks when his king falls back on it, a loud, deep moan escaping his throat. The sound of the crown bouncing off the bed and then clattering on the floor distantly registers in Armie’s brain. 

But he is more concerned with the way his hips twitch, his thighs clench around Armie’s torso. Everything a clear sign just how close he is. However, it seems like Timmy wants more tonight because he pulls Armie up above him, a hand fisted into his hair.

“Are you ready to serve your king?” He asks, voice husky and deep.  
“Always.” Armie greedily takes in his expression, the way his eyes are black with desire. He did that.  
Timmy smiles. “Then get on your knees.”

Armie moves, knows where Timmy likes him best. There’s a mirror just above the head end of the bed. He gets on his hands and knees in front of it now. That way Timmy can see his face as he fucks into him. 

On the other side, it gives Armie the liberty to watch as Timmy positions himself behind him, hands on his hips and stroking up and down slightly, like he’s soothing a spooked animal. He seems to take Armie in, kneeling on his bed in front of him and a small frown forms on his face. 

“Take your clothes off. Now.”

Armie scrambles to obey. Quickly, he pulls the shirt and leather pants he’d been wearing off. He’s not a fan of looking at himself. His eyes too cold, his skin too marred with scars. The muscles he had built up in training and fighting on the battlefield for Timmy may be considered attractive but he doesn’t understand what he has that would make desirable for someone who could have anyone.

Silently, he resumes his position in front of Timmy and waits, his head hanging between his shoulders now. Timmy will decide when they continue and how. Armie is ready to accept that without protest.

It starts in the middle of his back, an outstretched hand resting on the skin running down his back. There’s an involuntary ripple going through his back, muscles clenching and unclenching. Then the hand stops at just at the small of his back.  
Armie holds his breath.

“You’re beautiful, you know?” Timmy’s voice is soft and so honest it nearly undoes him. “Thank you for being content to stand in my shadow all day. Ready to die for me.”

Armie’s breath hitches as he feels a little tickle of hair and then a soft kiss pressed to his lower back.

“Let me reward you for your service.”

Armie can hear him spit into his hand before circling his hole with two fingers. He knows this process. Timmy has shown him how to make this hurt less for him. He always takes the time to do it and Armie isn’t sure why. To this day, he isn’t even sure why Timothée would choose him at all.

But when Timmy had looked at him, slightly drunk, gaze open and then taken his hand at a feast one day, leading him away to his tent, babbling something about an intense discussion they need to have, he hadn’t asked. He had just stood there and accepted the exploring hands that had peeled away every layer of him and then kissed what was underneath.

Timmy pushes into him after taking the time to prepare him with three fingers. By now, Armie is sweaty and shaking from the pent up pleasure. It feels like every piece falls into place. Pleasure and pain combine to a heady mix and at once, Armie feels too much and not enough. His cries are muffled by Timmy's pillow.

By now he knows the way Timmy grabs his hips will leave bruises, that he’ll smell Timmy on his skin for hours and that nothing will ever live up to the feeling of him caressing Armie like he’s worth something.

Armie loses his perception of time as he kneels on the bed, their bodies rocking together in a rhythm that feels primal and natural. Like there’s something in them that beats with the same frequency. Something to which they are matching their thrusts now.

Timmy’s movements become erratic as he pushes into Armie who is painfully hard. But he likes that, too. Likes the pain of waiting until Timmy spills his release into him like now, when his hips shutter to a stop and he fills his insides with warmth.

Timmy collapses on his sweaty back, pressing open-mouthed kisses there and, to Armie’s surprise, he reaches under him and grabs his hard cock. 

“You don’t have to,” Armie protests, still muffled by the pillow. 

But Timmy doesn’t let that stop him. His strokes are firm and sure, setting an almost punishing rhythm. It’s efficient and more than Armie would ever ask for. “Thank you, thank you.” He mumbles, his eyes screwed shut and his body thrusting into his grip.

He comes then, with a last muffled cry into the pillow and an almost loving kiss from Timmy on his shoulder. He moves off Armie’s back then and collapses into the sheets next to him, still breathless and slightly flushed.

Armie loves him like this, debauched and sated. But he also loves him in the throne room, strict and confident, and during feasts, loose and laughing, and on the battlefield, fierce and strong. He falls into the wet sheets and turns his head to study Timmy’s features.   
They’re relaxed now but he knows the way he draws his eyebrows together when he’s displeased with something a minister is saying, he knows the way his pale cheeks look when there’s blood smeared on them. 

“You’re staring,” Timmy mumbles, his eyes closed.  
“How could I ever want to stop looking at my king?” Armie answers and boldly reaches out. With the tip of his index finger, he draws a line down from his forehead over his nose to his lips. Under his soft touch, they part and Timmy’s tongue darts out to teasingly lick the intruder.  
It sends Armie’s heart racing. 

When Timmy turns to look at him though, his expression has changed again. His eyes look full of sorrow. “I don’t want to send you to war again.” 

They have never discussed anything of political importance in these private moments between them. Come to think of it, they’ve never talked much at all.  
And it’s surprising to see Timmy express this almost child-like reluctance when he never seemed like much of a person at all when he was reigning. He was just the king then. And as a king, it had been the right decision to go to war. Armie never mistrusted any of Timmy’s decisions.

“I’ll win this war for you,” Armie promises. It’s the only thing he can do for him but he had pledged to do it best.

“But you could die out there! I don’t want to send my soldier out to die, I don’t want to hold speeches in front of their widows again, I just want peace. I want… I want this!” Timmy’s outburst is emotional and it shocks Armie.

“This?” Armie asks carefully, not wanting to assume anything.

Timmy, who had been staring at the sheets up to now, looks up at him. “This, you in my bed. Waking up next to you, going to sleep next to you. I just-“ 

Armie is speechless, breathless even. Timmy wants what? He wants him? “I- Timmy, I would die for you.” It’s something he has said often because for him it had always been the only way of saying that he loves him.

“I know, Armie. I know that this-” he gestures between them. “It’s not professional, it’s not what you signed up for, it’s not… I just-” It tumbles out of him all at once, like he had been thinking about this for a long time and it’s spilling over now. “I guess I feel more for you than is good for me,” he adds quietly.

Armie gapes. Timmy feels- “I love you. Timmy, every time I said I’d die for you, I was really saying I love you.” He had to say it, Timmy had to know just how much Armie felt for him, that he could never feel more than Armie already feels for him. “I am in love with you.”

His eyes dance over Timmy’s features, desperately looking for some kind of reaction. There’s shock. And then there’s awe and wonder as it seems to sink in. Immediately Timmy surges up and presses their lips together. He kisses with a sense of urgency like their time is running out. Maybe it always has been. 

Armie meets his eagerness with his own. His heart is racing in his chest and he can’t quite process what this means for them, for their relationship. But he’s not hellbent on continuing to think about it in this very moment.

Right now, he’s content to just taste his lips, feel his tongue and explore the new territory offered before him.   
“I’m yours.” Armie gasps between their lips separating and meeting again.

Timmy doesn’t answer, he just sinks his teeth into Armie’s lip and then into the skin at his throat.

“All yours,” Armie whispers as he closes his eyes and drowns himself in the sensation. 

It isn’t until the touches at his neck let up that he opens his eyes again. The sight of Timmy propped up above him takes his breath away. There’s something about his gaze - piercing yet so soft and fond. “And I’m yours, Armie. You know I can never show it, we can never live it but- I am yours.”

The words hit Armie in the gut like a fist. They make his eyes water and his voice sounds choked up when he assures him, “it’s enough. That’s more than I could have ever hoped for.” 

Timmy catches one of the overflowing tears with his thumb. “I’m so scared of losing you, Armie. We came all this way, we fought all these battles and now I have to send you out there again. I wish I didn’t have to, I wish I wasn’t in this position.” 

“Don’t say that.” Armie shakes his head. “You’re not just my king. You’re their king and you’re fighting for their rights, for their freedom. It wouldn’t be fair to take that away from them just to keep it to myself. You’re destined for something greater, Timothée. So much greater than loving me.” Armie leans up and seals their lips in a very careful kiss, really just a press of lips. 

Timmy leans his forehead against Armie’s and they stay like that for awhile until it’s time to attend their duties again. Timmy has to be seen at the dinner meal and Armie needs to see after his men’s training. They leave the room, the wet sheets the only proof of what had just transpired. 

Maybe in a different time and in a different place, they could live the love they have for each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr for aesthetics and additional info:  
Main: [nicijones](https://nicijones.tumblr.com/)  
Charmie: [charmie-inspiration](https://charmie-inspiration.tumblr.com/)


End file.
